


Welcome Back

by shannonymous



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Angst, M/M, Sadness, time travel?, whoops sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:12:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3909091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannonymous/pseuds/shannonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carlos has been away so long.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Back

The sun did not rise today.

Carlos stands there, one speck of nothing and everything, staring up at the sky with an unwavering intensity, as if the sheer weight of his gaze will pull the star from its hiding place on the edge of the horizon. He smoothes his hair back absently, sweat slicking it flat and keeping it in place.

The desert is hot.

Scientifically, the vast desert should be freezing without the sun, but it’s always hot here. Always. Still, it worries him that the sun has not come. He fears looking away, almost knows in the hot wiring of his instinct that it could all disappear and he could too, along with it.

There are occasional glances at his watch; not for the time, because he knows time is relative and everything that once was may never be and will always be again. The sprawling desert isn’t so intimidating when he thinks of home, of the early mornings and lapses in time.

Home, Carlos thinks fondly. There’s a ghosting of firewood and brandy on the back of his nostalgic throat, tasting weak and empty. He will never get the chance to inhale it again, neither on the air nor on the breath of someone warm and lovely and very much not with him. He murmurs the name to no one, speaking to the empty void around him. Has he always been this alone?

His fingernails leave half-moons of broken skin on the inside of his palms and blood swells beneath the surface. It rises with aching regret, spilling over his nail beds and onto the sand. The arid desert drinks him up eagerly.  

 “Oh, Cecil,” he doesn’t mean to say, and he tastes iron on the back of his tongue. The weight of the darkness above him is scientifically impossible, but he still sinks to his knees under the burden. It stares back at him, unyielding.

At his side, there comes a soft ticking noise and Carlos lets it lull him easily pliant. The ache of home starts to resonate in his chest, deeper than the instinct he trusts so well. It draws him inside, tempts his worst fears from hiding and coaxes pain into the cracks they leave behind; they writher under his skin, reaching for the surface. It wants to break out of him, but he must stand here—he must watch, and he must wait. There may be no way home.

 _Home_ , he smiles softly. _Him_.

And just for a moment, he closes his eyes.

The ground lurches immediately as the void swallows its prey, and no darkness like this has ever been known before; but he wakes. The ticking on his wrist has stopped and when he lifts his arm, the gears are burnt out. There’s a brief moment where his stomach lurches.

“Are you all right?” Tamika Flynn asks, a stack of books cradled against her chest. Her face is uncertain. 

“Where’d you come from? No one’s allowed in there,” and when she nods at something behind him, Carlos turns to find himself seated at the entrance of the Dog Park.

“I was-“ he tries, and finds nothing to offer.

“I’m fine, Tamika, thank you,” rushes out as he stands and weakly makes his way to the other side of town. The young girl watches him hurry off, worry creasing her brow because not once did she say her name. She shrugs it off and shifts the stack of books in her arms, going on about her business. The library looms ahead, and she has more important things to worry about.

The relief is damn near tangible when Carlos finds the spare key and lets himself into the apartment he shares with Cecil.

“Ceec?” He calls out, searching through the rooms. His things are gone; it seems barren and unlived in, this space that felt too cramped with the two of them tangled there. How long has he been gone? There’s a quick hint of familiarity and Carlos moves towards the sound.

“Cecil?” The radio Cecil has owned for years sits where it always has, permanently turned on. Cecil is there, but not really; he sits a few miles away in his booth, giving the daily news to faithful listeners. Carlos listens to the cadence of his boyfriend’s voice, the lull of a sonorous tone that seems to still his wildly fluttering heart.

“Stay where you are,” a voice says from behind him and Carlos’ shoulders sink with relief. He turns to face the Sherriff’s Secret Police officer, and he never thought he’d be happy to see Doug again.

His head swims when he’s shoved against the wall, zip ties tight around his wrists.

“What-?”

“Suspect apprehended. Caught him snooping around in the Voice’s flat,” the officer reports, but it isn’t for Carlos. He isn’t listening; the world is too busy slowing down to hang heavy in his chest again.

“A new man came into town today. Who is he? What does he want from us? Why his perfect and beautiful haircut? Why his perfect and beautiful coat? He says he is a scientist. Well, we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives,” says the hum of Cecil’s voice.  

Carlos sinks to his knees.


End file.
